


Kink

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Crossdressing, Dildos, Exhibitionism, Fisting, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Roleplay, S&M, Shaving, Vibrators, Voyeurism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-30
Updated: 2001-11-30
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys





	1. Boy-on-boy.

"Bass, question," Chris says, plopping down next to Lance and crossing his leg over his knee, sprawled and macho all at once. Lance closes his magazine and sighs deeply, Chris's arm settling heavy over his shoulders. "Suppose I'm to ask you how you feel about boy-on-boy sex, what do you say?" 

"I say I'm not into child pornography," Lance replies, frowning. 

"Jeez, Bass, you're such a fucking stickler for details. Man-on-man, so sorry," Chris amends quickly, and Lance tilts his head, staring at him. Chris's lips are pursed, his eyes are dark and unrevealing, and Lance can't even begin to guess at the point of this interrogation, so he shrugs. "No, seriously. You into it?" 

Lance rolls his shoulders. Two more interviews, and they can all go back to the hotel for rest and relaxation, until tomorrow, when they have a show, but the interviews will go on forever, and Lance will never get home. Also, Chris is being an ass. "Are you?" 

"Sometimes," Chris says slowly and pokes Lance in the side to encourage the mutual sharing of information. Lance regards him suspiciously, wondering if he's serious, and he looks it, the way he's licking his lips. Yeah, Lance decides, he's telling the truth. 

"Yeah, me too. _Sometimes_ ," Lance repeats. "Why?" 

"Guess," Chris says and puts his hand on Lance's knee, squeezing. Lance stares at the short, pale fingers, with the black hair on their knuckles. There's a neon pink bandaid wrapped around the pinky finger, where Chris sliced it yesterday on a corkscrew. 

"You want to have man-on-man sex," Lance guesses, and his stomach is all knotted and nervous. What a bizarre twist, Lance thinks, what a very queer turn in my life, but his dick is saying, oh, pick me, pick me. "Chris." 

Chris rolls his head back, casual. "Mm?" 

"You're a psycho," Lance says, and Chris nods, no big surprise there. "Back at the hotel. Later." 

"That a boy." Chris jumps up, digging his hands into his pocket, and kicks Lance lightly on the shin with scuffed white sneakers. "See you then, hot stuff." 

Lances tries not to look too excited. Meanwhile, his dick is cheering.


	2. Half past midnight.

"I didn't think you'd show," Chris says, dragging Lance into a dark room, and Lance mumbles something, he's not even sure what, but it's not important because Chris is already pulling at his shirt, trying to get him naked. "Hoped you'd come through, Bass. You and me, we're on the same wavelength. Fucking awesome, man." 

Lance goes sprawling on the bed, waving bye bye bye to his pants as Chris's shucks them down, climbing all over his back and kissing every inch of skin. Lance is squirming, feeling kind of lost, but he ain't gonna deny how great Chris feels, ravishing his willing body. Lance smiles stupidly. He's being ravished. He likes it. 

"Your ass is the fucking nicest ass in this hemisphere," Chris is saying, and Lance nods, not even sure those are words leaving Chris's mouth. His lips are flapping around, Lance looks over his shoulder to see them dance, but funny, Lance is too dazed to make heads or tails of them. "The Bass Ass, man. People write odes about it." 

And whoa, Chris is licking that ass, and Lance thinks he _really_ likes it. He figures Justin is right. Lance totally is vanilla when it comes to sex. Justin Timberlake is always right, Lance makes note of this discovery is his head, then squirms his hips, begging Chris to keep doing that thing he's doing because it feels _swell_. 

"We totally have to be up at six, but we're getting no sleep, man, no sleep. Up for days, if we need to be, because, fuck. You're so goddamn sexy, man. You taste so fucking good. Mm, mm, mm," and Lance wants to say, oh are you still talking? And just how are you managing that, Chris, in the middle of rimming? A man of many talents, Lance thinks. 

"Do you bottom? Mm, baby, do you?" Chris is asking, and Lance shrugs, hey, why not? And nods quickly, yelping when Chris flips him onto his back and fucking attacks his nipples with a crazy, still-talking mouth. "Oh, yeah, me too. But tonight, mm. Me in you, dude. So fucking hot. Even Joey thinks so, and he's so straight. Fucking hot as sin." 

Lance is twisting all over the bed, grabbing at cotton sheets, and thinks, this is blowing my mind -- what in pray tell is going on here? And Chris is just doing things Lance never dreamed of in his vanilla-sex mind, and swallows his cock deep down his throat. Lance moans, thumping the bed with his heel. All good things do indeed come to those who wait. 

Chris springs off the bed suddenly, and Lance thinks, thank god, with precum dripping all over his stomach and his head spinning like a zillion tops. It's only a moment's rest then Chris is all over him, caterwauling in his ear about pleasure's not yet explored, and Lance thinks, lord, I can't take much more. 

Then fingers, and oh, those are nice. Oh, yeah, right there, and Lance hears himself begging for it and thinks, depraved, Bass, you are truly depraved. Also, he swears off women. Chris has already ruined him. It's over. Only men from now on, and holy fuck, but that feels good, filled with two fingers twisting like tornados in Kansas. Lance says fuck it, and pleads with Chris to let him come because it feels bad, in a really good way. 

"Oh, baby, you're made for this," Chris hums, and hooks one of Lance's legs over his shoulder, the other around his back, and slides in deep. Lance chokes back a cry, and oh yeah, never sleeping with another woman. He is just destroyed, a thousand pieces when Chris is thrusting, panting in his ear like an animal. Lance just goes along for the ride, and thinks, I need to get an all access pass, oh baby. 

So they fuck for what must be hours and is probably only five minutes, and Lance is never walking again and doesn't much care. He feels like phoning friends and telling them how much he loves sex and he takes back every mediocre feeling ever expressed on the subject. Life is good and complete, and it's only half past midnight.


	3. Hey, hi, good morning.

There's something to be said for the morning after. Lance wakes up to Chris's mouth on his dick, and oh wow, looks like it really wasn't a one time thing at all. Chris is fucking slurping his dick down, and Lance is kicking aimlessly at the sheets, hips bucking wildly, and fuck, but Chris has ruined this, too. It's all so fucking _good_. 

And Lance thinks, gee, what is he doing, then Chris is over him, hand a sloppy slicked-up mess and squeezing Lance's aching dick, then whoa, right in there, with zero preparation, unless Chris was fucking his own ass with his fingers before Lance woke up, and that, Lance decides, is a fucking sexy thought. 

"Hey, hi, good morning," Chris is saying, and Lance beams at him, just wants to thank him for getting him laid right and proper, and also, for having such a wonderfully tight ass because oh boy, Lance is enjoying this, the slick slide of his cock in Chris's body. Chris bends down, and they're kissing, without tongue at first then messily, all over the place. Lance howls as he comes, and Chris jerks himself off until he spurts all over Lance's stomach. 

"Woo," Lance says weakly and pats Chris's shoulder as he climbs off then collapses, panting into Lance's neck. They're both hairy-faced and rough on each other's skin. "Wow. So that's how sex is supposed to feel. Shoot. I owe Justin ten bucks." 

Chris laughs. "What, no man's ever bedded you so good?" 

"Oh, um, about that," Lance says slowly, and Chris glares at him, in this way that makes Lance's belly tighten in mild fear of being socked, but hey, he didn't ask, and it's not like Lance didn't think he was probably bisexual. "Yeah. Just you." 

"Oh, man," Chris says and thumps his head with the heel of his hand. "Oh man! You said _sometimes_ , Bass. That means you're a raging bisexual. That means you _sometimes_ get laid by members of the same sex. That's what that means, Bass." 

"I've sucked a couple dicks," Lance says in his own defence, and Chris pokes the soft pudge of his belly _hard_. Lance huffs out air, tongue stretched, and Chris pinches that same squishy flesh and fucking twists. "Ow, Chris! Fuck. All right. Three dicks." 

"Don't lie to me," Chris says. 

"I've had my dick sucked by three men," Lance amends, "but I wanted to do it back but, well, between you and me, I think they were just doing because I was Lance Bass and not because they were into it. Second wasn't bad though. Nowhere as good as you, but fuck, Chris. I fully intended to reciprocate. I think that counts." 

Chris groans but rubs the wounded flesh of Lance's belly, like he feels sorry for being such a fucking bastard about it, and Lance thinks it's too early for Chris's deflowering issues and says so. Chris narrows his eyes. "Dude, this isn't my virgin thing. This is my straight thing." 

"I am so not straight!" Lance declares, thumping his fist down on the bed, and it's a mortal insult because Lance realises he may lie about some things, but this isn't one of them. Chris smirks, and Lance still has the sense to look bemused. "Sorry, but I'm not." 

Chris suddenly looks very hungry. "How not straight?" 

"Pretty not straight," Lance says and fumbles his hand down between Chris's body, and oh, look, the old man is hard again, and Lance already knows whose hard dick is slopping all over his own stomach. "Not straight enough to blow you." 

"Be our guest," Chris says, spreads his arms wide, "my dick and I welcome you and your mouth to this here groin on this fine Wednesday morning." 

Lance thinks for moment, where the fuck does he get this stuff, then dips between his legs and says hey, hi, good morning to Chris's red hot cock. There's really a lot to be said about the morning after, and Chris's, "oh, fuck, man, that's the way you do it," is as good as anything else.


	4. Mr. Bass meet Mr. Exhibitionist.

By the end of week two, Lance fears he may be all fucked out. Chris is everywhere he turns, striking poses, cupping his groin, giving his popsicle head while JC looks on, wide-eyed and stunned. Lance isn't sure if it's stalking, and if it is, it might the only good kind in the world. 

Also, Chris is getting weird with his demands. Like, he makes them try shower-sex, but they can't seem to keep their balance and tear the shower rod out of the wall, and Chris splits his lip on the toilet as they fall. Or Chris goes down on Lance in a public washroom stall, with Lance sitting on the tank of the toilet to hide his legs, and Joey comes in to take a crap, and it isn't fun for anyone involved, but he doesn't stop, either. 

Chris makes JC swap with Lance on the busses, when it would have been easier to swap Joey for Chris, so Lance knows something's up. Chris is already acting suspicious, though he claims he and Justin have unfinished business, which turns out to be the stupid Playstation and Lance wonders why he even thought Chris was there for sex. Probably, Lance thinks, because he always is. 

Lance is lying on his stomach, reading a book, and Chris comes flying at him, right out of nowhere, and lands hard on Lance's back, sprawled. The book flutters like a bird to the ground, and Chris's hand folds over his mouth as the other hand reaches up and poof, bye bye bye light. 

"Lift your hips," Chris whispers in Lance's ear, and then, fuck, that wet slimey thing trying to beat Lance's ear drum is Chris's goddamn tongue, and if it didn't feel so good, Lance would be repulsed. Regardless, Lance lifts his hips up, and his pants are gone. Lance still isn't sure how Chris does that, but he isn't going to ask. Chris is already naked. 

Lance chews the word Justin into Chris's palm, but Chris ignores him, pulling a blanket up over them, and Lance sighs deeply. It isn't that late, and even though it's dark, Justin could come back at any moment. Right now, this is pretty private, and Lance wants to keep it that way. 

For a moment, Chris doesn't move, and Lance listens. Justin is making noise, beatboxing, and gee, Lance thinks, that must be annoying to hear all the time, but then it doesn't matter because Chris is spreading Lance's legs, angling his ass. If Lance didn't like getting fucked so much, he'd try to be a little less slutty, but as it is, he nudges his hips back, impatient. 

"Shh, shh," Chris says and lubes up Lance's ass. There's going to be a stain on the divan, Chris is using so much, but when Chris's slippery dick slides clean and cool into Lance's ass, Lance figures it just doesn't matter at all. 

So they're fucking, and Lance is enjoying it, even though his dick is pinned to the couch and rubbing in a not so enjoyable way, because Chris is licking at his neck, his shoulders, his back. It feels nice, sensual, and Lance feels just great, the best he's felt since yesterday, when Chris gave him head while he drove down a bumpy country road. 

Justin clambers out, and Chris stills, his body going languid, and Lance's mind is screeching, oh shit, oh shit, as he holds his breath. This looks so bad. Justin walks by, scratching his nuts through his boxers, and pauses. "Hey, Chris. Can I borrow a beer?" 

"Sure, kid," Chris says, his voice low, throaty. Slightly, he moves his hips, and Lance digs his teeth into the couch cushion, his ass throbbing, feeling neglected. It's not fair, Lance thinks miserably, it's not fair, not fair, not fair. 

"Is that Lance?" Justin asks. "What're you doing?" 

Yes, indeed, Chris, Lance wants to ask, what the fuck are you doing? But Chris just shifts again, drives deeper, and whoa, that's Lance's prostate Chris is bumping now. Lance moans, low, keening in his throat. Chris just laughs. "Yep. I'm pissing him off. He was sleeping, so I sat on him. He likes it." 

Justin laughs, and Chris moves again, corkscrews in, and Lance hates him, really hates him, wants to rip his dick off and shove it in his ear, but loves him, too, because oh, wow, it feels so fucking good all the fucking time and Chris fucking knows it, the fucking _fucker_. "Poor Scoop. You okay under Chris, Lance? You want me to pry him off?" 

"No! _No_. I'm fine," Lance mutters, and smiles to himself, tighten his ass around Chris's cock. Chris chokes, trying to remain still, to keep the blanket up to his neck. Lance thanks the bout of the shits he had when he was sick for the superior strength of his anus. "He's just being a fucker. I'm fine. I'll take care of it." 

Justin laughs all the way back to his bunk, and the minute the curtain hisses closed, Lance pushes to all four, forcing his ass back. Chris fucks him hard, quick, and Lance bites his fist when he comes, but the flesh distorts and it sounds like a fart, which sets Chris off howling with laughter and coming all the while, and it's so fucking stupid, all of it. Lance thinks he could do a lot better than Chris. 

Then he thinks, as Chris kisses him under the ear and says, "thank you," that he could probably do a lot worse, too.


	5. Gimme a one, two, three, four.

Chris shows up with two latex gloves and four tubes of lube, and Lance stares at him for a long, long time. Once, when they were in Germany, Joey found a bunch of gloves and blew them up to make hand-shaped balloons and it amused them for hours. Somehow this time, Lance is sure it won’t be that simple. 

“I wasn’t sure what size your hand is. Like, I think small, but it’s ladies, right? So then I’m thinking, you might be insulted and withhold sex, so I also got you large, man-handed ones to stroke your ego,” Chris is explaining, holding them out, and Lance takes them, closing his new laptop and putting it away. Last week, Chris jumped him while he was answering email, and the spunk short-circuited the keyboard. Lance was going to upgrade, anyway. 

Lance puts the small glove on, and it fits wonderfully, if not a bit tightly, and fuck, it’s already sweaty inside. Lance thinks about a polite way to ask if Chris has a glove fetish, but Chris drops his pants and climbs onto the bed, reclined on his back. “I want you to fist me.” 

Lance chokes, swallows strangely and gets saliva in his lungs, and he’s just hacking, coughing, because _fuck_ , Chris is a psycho, and how the fuck did Lance get involved in this, and why is his mouth saying, “okay,” when his brain is saying, “my hand is not going to fit in your ass?” Chris has the tightest ass, Lance thinks, it’s physically impossible. 

“Why?” Lance says, after he’s said okay, and Chris rolls his eyes. “No, seriously, why the hell would you want me to put my arm in your ass? Like. I might have small, womanly hands, but Chris. Chris,” Lance says, like his name says it all. Chris needs serious mental help. 

“Humour me,” Chris says dryly. “Fist me.” 

Lance wonders when he became Chris’s whipped bitch, and wonders later, as the first finger snakes in past the tight ring and presses at the silky soft walls, why he isn’t even bothering to complain about it. Chris might never shit again, after they’re through. Lance wants Chris to have nice, normal bowel movements. This, Lance decides, is important to him. 

“Chris, I really don’t think this is going to work,” Lance says, watching the minutes tick by, squirting more lube onto his fingers as he goes from one to two, and Chris growls at him, literally bears his teeth and gives him this glare that says, do not fuck with me, Bass. Lance can hear it in his head perfectly. Chris is so predictable. “Chris. For Fuck’s sake.” 

“Shut. Up,” Chris says, and wiggles his ass, spreading his legs farther, hands hooked behind his knees, and so, yeah, maybe it’s kind of sexy, and maybe Lance’s pants are tented already, and maybe there’s a wet spot, but he likes fingering, really likes it. Chris is so fucking tight. “See. That’s good. Come on. This ass does magnificent things. It’s ready to stun you.” 

Lance sighs and rotates his fingers, shifting his hips on the bed, just to get Chris loose, comfortable. Lance hooks one of Chris’s legs over his shoulder, and Chris is swaying around, humming deep in his chest, and Lance thinks, why couldn’t he just be happy with traditional gay sex? Why does he have to be so weird all the fucking time? 

Three fingers a little later, and Chris is so tight that Lance opens his mouth to point it out, and Chris, the supreme bitch, snarks, “shut the fuck up, Bass. I get it. I’m tight. I get it,” and Lance bites his knee hard, leaving crescent moons on the knobby white skin. 

“Ow,” Chris says, whines it out, and Lance rolls his eyes, pinching Chris’s prostate between two fingers, and Chris yelps and laughs and says, “come on, Bass. I’m not made of glass here. I’ve seen this in porn. It’s all good. Just keep going.” 

Oh god, Lance thinks with horror, Chris is basing reality on porn again, which is a sad, sad thing, but he always looks like he’ll cry when they tell him that twenty-inch cock is probably not real. Chris believes in kinky, deviant sex, Lance is beginning to realise. It’s his own personal Santa Claus, so Lance humours him. 

At four fingers, Lances loses track of time, but he knows it’s been awhile. Chris is still thumping his fist on the bed, saying, “slow, slow,” and “god, Lance, were you birthed by a baseball bat? Ow.” Lance is sorry but he laughs at that, taking a moment out to laugh himself stupid, laying his forehead on the inside of Chris’s thigh. As an apology, Lance massages Chris’s prostate until he’s languid and happy again, two steps from spouting love poetry. Lance thinks only Chris, only Chris, over and over again. 

Lance is so turned on too, which makes this all terrible because he doesn’t want to destroy Chris’s anus, ranks it fairly low on his fun-things-to-do-on-a-Saturday-afternoon list, but his cock is enjoying itself, and Lance likes the slick slide glide of his hand up to his thumb into Chris’s shaking body. 

Oh man, Lance thinks suddenly, what if Chris can never dance again? What if Lance ruins Nsync because he can’t keep his hand from holing up in Chris’s tight -- so fucking _tight_ \-- ass? Behind the Music will eat them alive. 

“Chris, admit defeat, please,” Lance says, trying to make his hand stopping from twisting further, but it’s decided to move in and doesn’t want to leave, and Lance hates it, suddenly, hates his hand that loves Chris’s ass, and oh boy! “I don’t want VH1 blaming me for wrecking the group because of all your ass-correcting surgery and the fact that you have to shit into a bag for the rest of your life. It’s just not worth it.” 

“You are a big whiner, Bass,” Chris pants out, and he’s covered in sweat. His ass is contracting crazily, and Lance is trying to make his hand stop, but it’s fucking dancing, and life is cruel. Lance covers his eyes, says thumb don’t you dare, but it’s in, finally, and Lance is coming, right in his pants, with a low, low groan. 

Later, after he slowly, slowly removes his hand and sucks Chris off, Chris says, “all right, I’ve done it, now I’m never doing it again,” and Lance agrees with a laugh, secretly thinking he’ll be jerking off to this for weeks until his balls are dry and his dick shrivels off and dies from overuse. Tomorrow, he hopes Chris can still shit. 

This is still very important to him.


	6. Shorn like a sheep.

Chris's story goes like this: he is jumping down the stairs in the hotel, three at a time, and between floors twelve and thirteen, he trips and collapses down a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he pulls the muscles in his groin, and that's why he's limping for two days. 

The third day, Chris announces that his groin is fully healed and please alert the groupies, and other interested parties, that fabulous Kirkpatrick sex can resume and all is well with the world once again. Meanwhile, Lance is very, very afraid. 

"Hey," Chris says that same night, posing in Lance's doorway, and Lance lets him in, even though they have a show tomorrow, and he should be sleeping. Chris is wearing huge sweatpants and a holey shirt that says, Kiss Me, I'm Irish, so Lance kisses him. "Mm, yeah, Bass. This tryst of ours into the wonderful world of Kirkpatrick sex is such a good idea." 

"If you say so," Lance replies, and yeah, he's lying, but he's still feeling mildly guilty about Chris's ass, so he shrugs his shoulders and plays suave and nonchalant. Chris smiles, and be still Lance's beating heart, Lance smiles back. "So." 

"Fun, fun, fun, Bass," Chris says and tugs him into the bathroom, shoves a hand down Lance's pants and squeezes his dick. Oh yeah, Lance thinks, so much better than my own womanly hands, god bless him. "Pants off," Chris mutters, and they're gone, again, and Lance wants to ask, just how do you do that? "Up on the counter, Bass." 

Lance jumps up, lifts his hips as Chris slides a towel under his ass, wrapping his fingers around Lance's ankles and spreading Lance's legs wide. Raising an eyebrow, Lance doesn't question, and Chris crouches down, rooting through his bag, and when he comes up, he's holding scissors, a razor and a can of cream. 

"Oh, for the love of god," Lance says and can't believe he's going to allow this, can't believe he's so depraved that he's going to say nothing else on the matter and let Chris near his nuts with a sharp, dangerous tool. Then again, it's apt revenge for an anus gone awry. "Just don't cut anything off, all right? I like my balls." 

Chris grins. "I _love_ your balls, Bass. They're in good hands," Chris assures him, pulling off his shirt, his pants, until his naked ass is bared in all its pale, white, blinding glory. "And hey, I'm going to let you do it to me afterward. Of course, you have your work cut out for you. It's a jungle down there." 

Lance laughs, feels it rumble deep in his chest, and it's so true, so true. He dips his head back as Chris runs a warm, wet cloth over Lance's groin, more a man with a mission than a man after sex, and Lance shivers hard as Chris snips at the hair, cutting it short, then smearing the shaving cream everywhere. Lance just hopes this ends with minimal spilled blood. 

Chris folds a hot, steady hand over Lance's dick, which is already hard, and presses it to his belly, and the other hand, Lance shivers as it swipes the blade across his sac. Chris is humming, "mm, mm, mm," as he shaves, and Lance isn't sure if it's painful or pleasant. 

"Whoa, hey," Lance says suddenly when his dick slips into Chris's mouth, and Chris is sucking, and the blade is still scraping over skin. "Chris, man, watch what you're doing," and Chris pulls back, licking his lips. "I swear to god, don't screw around." 

"Sorry, sorry," Chris mutters, "sorry, won't do it, will resist the. Mm," and there he goes again, sucking Lance's cock, and Lance bats at his head. Chris pulls back, panting, and lifts up his free hand. "I, Chris Kirkpatrick, solemnly swear to stop doing that." 

"Okay," Lance agrees, tensing his ass when Chris resumes the shearing, chewing on his lower lip, and he's scraping around, being careful and slow, and this, Lance decides, is torture, and, "Chris, holy fuck, man. The task at hand, Chris, the task at hand. Take that penis out of your mouth!" 

But it doesn't help because Chris squeezes his balls until they ache, and Lance throws his head back, blindly grabbing for Chris's wrist and pulling that dangerous razor away, and yes, yes, that's nice, so, yes, very nice. Lance bows to Chris's superior cock-sucking skills. 

When he comes, Chris swallows, and licks his lips, like he loves the taste, and that's that. He shaves Lance until he's smooth and soft, folds their hand together as they touch Lance's bare nuts, then he smiles, and that's that, too. Chris grins, "my turn."


	7. Girls who are boys who like boys to be girls.

Lance is miserable and itchy, and Chris is a pest. A horrible, perverted pest. In fact, Lance doesn't like him at all because he's horrible and perverted, and fuck, his balls are itchy. He scratches them through his pants, hating his nuts. Who in their right mind shaves their balls? Really. Lance hates Chris. 

"Hey, Lance, baby," Chris says, coming in through the connecting door, and he's scratching his nuts, too, and Lance wants to say, serves you right, but doesn't. He just rolls his eyes and tries to convince himself that sex with Chris isn't worth the trouble. "I got a present for you. We're gonna have fun tonight." 

Lance knows he should say he has something better to do, but fuck, all right? He's twenty-two, and he's had sex with a lot of people, and Chris is good for all his fucked-upness. Lance deserves good sex. Chris kisses him on the lips then drops the plastic bag at Lance's feet. 

"See you tonight, baby," Chris says and saunters off, closing the door behind him. Lance is almost afraid to look in the bag but he does, peering inside cautiously, and oh, man. Oh man, Lance repeats as he dumps everything out. Oh. _Man_. 

It's a mound of silk and satin, and note pinned to it all, "shave." Lance swears, and hates Chris, and marches into the bathroom to shave his fucking legs and his fucking armpits, and Lance just hates Chris so much. 

So Lance shaves, and nicks, and kinda likes his bare armpits and can't stop touching them, but he misses the manly hair because he only got it recently. Chris doesn't seem to understand that while Chris was hairy as fuck by the time he was thirteen, Lance's body hair is sacred and new. Still, it's all gone, shaved away, and Lance rubs his bare chin, missing the scruff. 

Naked, he wanders back into the room, and picks up the -- god, can he say it? -- black panties and hopes to hell they fit. He slides them up his hips, tucks in his dick and balls so they aren't hanging out as badly, and sighs. The things he does for Chris and good sex. It's almost too great a price to pay. 

Lance gets tangled up in the black bra, and tries not to think about how well it fits or how nice the satin feels on his nipples, all tingly and cool, and Lance touches his chest, eyes fluttering closed. Oh yeah, that's nice. Really nice. He still hates Chris, though. 

Lance wipes the dried blood off his legs before sliding on the dress, this slinky mint-green number that just clings to his ass and makes his stupid hips seem huge, and. And, hmm, I'm kind of hot, Lance thinks, finally looking in the mirror. One of the bra straps is visible over his shoulder, and he tucks it under the dress. 

Then he waits, and he worries because, oh fuck, if someone comes to the door then they're going to think Lance is a cross-dressing weirdo or something, and the legs, and the pits, and Lance is going to have to explain them to the other guys, who don't seem to notice the bizarre world of crazy Chris sex that Lance is trapped in. 

Chris opens the connecting door, dressed in a short black dress, and he smiles at Lance. He looks like a lesbian, Lance realises, with his smooth face and spiked hair, my kinky sex partner is a lesbian. And hey, so am I, Lance thinks with a smile. We're lesbians. _yay_. 

"Hey, baby," Chris says and kisses him hotly with a sliding slick tongue, putting his hand on Lance's hip as he nibbles at Lance's lips. Lance sighs and opens his mouth, and yeah, that's hot, with the slide of Chris's back covered in silk between his fingers. "Mm, you make a hot, hot girl, Bass. Fucking wet dream." 

Lance lets Chris push him to the bed, spreads his legs as Chris palms them, all silky and smooth, and slides his hand under his dress, such a naughty girl. Lance giggles, fucking _giggles_ , as Chris slides the straps of his dress off his shoulders, tugs it down until he's only in the bra with a crumpled dress around his waist. Fuck, if it wasn't so hot, it would be weird, but Lance doesn't care. 

"Don't touch your dick," Chris whispers, tonguing Lance's ear, "because you don't have one," and Lance thinks it's going to be hard, ignoring the cock that helped him through high school, but he nods as Chris fingers his nipples then slides them into the cups of his bra. "You're so easy, Bass. So easy. Must be Catholic." 

Lance laughs, and it hitches because Chris is mouthing his tits -- _chest_ \-- through the bra, and his hand on Lance's hip has moved to his inner thigh and is stroking softly, softly. Lance's hips, those slutty, Catholic hips, are undulating against Chris's touch, his legs spread wide, so hot, so fucking hot. 

"Yeah, baby, mm," Chris is saying, and they're fucking humping each other, and Lance forgives Chris for the itchy balls situation because it just doesn't matter, and oh, oh. Lance arches his back and comes inside his lacy black panties, and Chris pushes against him three more times and comes, too. 

And yeah, Lance thinks later, naked with Chris curled on his back, already snoring, and he himself blissfully close to sleep, these itchy balls are definitely forgiven, and scratches some more.


	8. Hurts so good, baby.

Chris slips a book into Lance's bag when Lance isn't looking and he finds it late at night, when the bus is rumbling under his feet and Joey is jerking off in the back. It's black and small, with a plain cover, and when Lance opens it, his stomach drops. Okay, he thinks, this is getting weird. 

But Lance reads because, hey, Chris hasn't been wrong yet, even though Chris really hates fisting and vows never to do it again, but Lance likes it, still wacks off thinking about it. Chris has highlighted sections and writes on the inside cover, "Chris Bottom, Lance Top," with a smilely face drawn beside the words. Oh jeez, Lance thinks, he's the least toppy person he's ever met. Chris practically has to bribe Lance in order to get Lance to fuck him, which he usually doesn't bother with. Lance so loves getting fucked. 

Three days later, Lance finds a new leather suit on his bed, and though he's tired as hell, he puts it on, all the buckles and shit confusing him, but he's in it by the time Chris shows up, wearing a robe. Underneath, he's wearing a harness, or something, and Lance tries not to smile. 

"What's the safe word?" Lance asks, scratching his leather-clad thigh, and it squeaks under his nails, sounding terrible, so he stops. Chris keeps his head down, and fucking Bottom, Lance thinks, fucking Chris. Where does he get this stuff? "Okay. Our safe word is. Um. Concert Film." 

"That's two words, Bass," Chris mumbles, and Lance smacks him on the ass, lightly. Chris snorts, that way he does when he doesn't want to laugh, and Lance is insulted by it. So, what? Maybe he's not some sort of sadistic top, but Chris doesn't need to laugh about it. 

"Kneel," Lance commands, and fuck, his voice breaks, this is so stupid, but Chris kneels, head still down. Lance cups his cheek, turns Chris's face upwards, and good, he's not smiling. Of course, now that Chris is on the floor, Lance doesn't know what to do with him. 

"Get on the bed," Lance says instead and grabs Chris by the harness, yanking him upwards, and Chris yelps because yes, that strap of leather between his legs is probably digging into his still-itchy balls. Lance smacks the white ass with his palm -- "quiet!" -- and leaves a red handprint. Chris punches him back, right in the gut. 

"Ow, fucker," Lance says, holding his stomach. "You pussy. I didn't hit you that hard." 

"Sorry, sorry," Chris says, "couldn't stop myself. Sorry. Go on." 

Lance narrows his eyes but agrees, calls Chris a few names, mean ones, insulting ones, and Chris grins, shaking his head, so Lance smacks him again – "quiet!" – and Chris shuts up, nodding, and hey, Lance didn't tell him to do that, so he smacks him again, and Chris socks in the balls this time, hard. 

"You fuck," Lance groans, collapsed on the ground. "The book says you're supposed to be submissive, you fucking ass. _Jeez_." Lance breathes deeply, holding his balls, which he really thinks Chris doesn't respect enough. "This was your idea, you know." 

"You don't have to be so mean about it," Chris snaps, the fucking queen, and Lance rolls onto his side, biting his lip. Fuck, but his balls just didn't sign up for this abuse. "And really. It's, like, instinct, man. I'm sorry. Maybe you have to tie me up." 

So Lance ties him up, on his belly spread-eagle, and it helps stop Chris from fighting back. Lance spanks him a bit but feels like a tool doing it, and it just isn't sexy. Plus, Chris is pissed off, Lance can tell, but the stubborn motherfucker won't admit defeat. 

"Chris, I just don't think we're cut out for this," Lance finally says with an exasperated sigh after Chris has insulted everything Lance loves, including his mother, who should never have been mentioned at all. He unties Chris. "Sorry. I just. It's not my thing." 

"It sounded cool," Chris mutters. "Sorry for, like, not being into pain. I'm a wimp, man." 

Lance gets up and turns off the lights then goes back to bed, where Chris is rubbing his red ass and looking miserable. Lance climbs under the covers and kisses Chris a bit because he knows they both like that. Soon, they're asleep, and the next morning, Chris is gone.


	9. Plug me in.

Chris stays away for awhile, and Lance mopes. He misses the sex. It's so fucking dumb, he thinks for the fourth time that day, Chris totally asked for it, and now he's being such a bitch about it, like he's mad. Fuck him, Lance decides, I'm going back to women. 

So Lance goes out and tries to find a girl, a pretty one, with blonde hair and big boobs, the type of girl he liked before Chris turned all weird and sexy, but he's even less interested in bad sex than he was before. "Fuck," Lance says to himself, "I hope this doesn't mean I'm gay," then adds, "and I hate Chris." 

The next morning, Lance wakes to find Chris perched over him, and he grins. "Rise and shine, you beautiful Bass, you," he says and flips Lance onto his belly. "See, today we have three meetings, and I don't know about you, boy, but I'm horny as fuck." 

"Chris, we don't have time," Lance murmurs, blinking at the clock. He's already late. He suspects Chris turned off his alarm, but Chris just slaps his ass lightly and spreads his legs. "Oh, fine," Lance says, giving in, "but don't say I didn't warn you." 

"Shut up," Chris says fondly and kisses Lance behind the ear. "You're such a doofus, man. This," Chris says, and Lance lifts his head to ask what, but then, oh, oh my. Lance blinks, and Chris laughs. "Matching set, man. Plugs." And in it goes with a pop. 

"Chris," Lance says and wracks his brain for some reason why this is a bad thing, but Chris just grins and kisses him, bouncing around, and oh, oh, fuck. Lance's cock is already hard, and his ass is thrumming, and oh fuck, how he hates Chris. "That feels." 

" _Wild_ ," Chris says and flies off the bed. 

Lance gets dressed slowly, this piece of plastic in his ass, and he can't stop thinking about it. He wears his loosest pants, and says, bad dick, bad when it refuses to not be obvious about its suffering state. "I hate you," Lance says to it, and scratches his balls. "And you guys, too. Fuck." 

Lance remains very, very still during the meeting, trying to play like it's a normal day, like he doesn't have a plug in his ass because Chris put it there after denying Lance sex for four whole days. Lance thinks, if nothing else, this whole situation gets points for its dysfunction. 

"Are you okay?" JC asks loudly, and Lance looks mortified because he isn't talking to Lance, is he? But it sure looks like he is, and Lance nods dumbly, ignoring Chris's laughter. JC's concern is fleeting, anyway, and the meeting goes on, and Lance swears to god, if he doesn't come soon, his balls are going to explode. 

At break, he races off to the bathroom, but Chris is there, smirking, and Lance sighs deeply, rubbing at his cock through his pants because it's really two steps from rotting off. "Come on, Chris," Lance says quietly, "come on." 

And Chris licks his lips, and oh yeah, Lance thinks, his ass throbbing as Chris sneaks closer, his hand curving around Lance's waist then down the back of his pants, fingers pressing at the plug, going deeper and deeper. Oh yeah, baby, Lance thinks, his own hand wrapped around Chris's cock, pulling, squeezing, rubbing. Oh yeah, baby, plug me in.


	10. Rolling, rolling, rolling.

Lance comes out of the shower, a towel slung low around his waist, and Chris is sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but a big beaded necklace. Lance yanks the towel off and goes to sit down beside him, sighing. Chris smirks. "Hi, Bass." 

"Hi, Chris," Lance says, and he can't stop staring at the row of lavender beads around Chris's neck, especially when Chris starts fingering them, rolling them between index and thumb. Lance reaches up and tugs on it. It falls off easily, a snake of plastic balls on his lap, and Lance gets it. "Oh, jeez. What is this? Stuff your anus week?" 

"Hey, Bass, I'm not the one with the stuffed anus kink. That's you," Chris says, grinning, and he leans over, and mm, kisses Lance, flickering his tongue over Lance's lips before Lance opens his mouth, leaning into it. Oh yeah, but Chris pulls back, a warm palm settling over Lance's dick. "You up for it? I always wanted to try this out." 

Lance nods, and oh boy! It looks like it's his lucky day, which is good, because this morning Lance discovered that their third bout of crazy cross-dressing sex last night resulted in killing his laptop, again, and Lance thinks, a bad day just got that much better. "Got lube?" 

"Do I? Dude, I'm keeping that place stocked," Chris says, and ta da, two tubes appear from under the pillow, and then they're flipping around on the bed, kissing frantically for a minute or two until Chris waggles his ass. "Come on, Bass." 

There's something Lance really likes about Chris on his belly, spread legs and hips hoisted up by a pillow, and he can't quite put a finger on it, just that it's nice, and hot, and a sign of good wonderful sex. Lance hums. "Mm. Chris. Mm." And Chris wiggles his ass. "Impatient." 

"You're a fucking sadist," Chris mutters, and Lance laughs because no he isn't, and Chris fucking knows that now. Lance squirts a blob of lube at the small of Chris's back. Chris groans in frustration, and poor boy, Lance thinks, rubbing it in, poor suffering Chris. "Jesus, Lance." 

"You just got laid yesterday," Lance says, thinking, unbelievable, insatiable. "I know. I was there, and mm. Mm," Lance adds, Chris's ass cupped in his palms, and it's so tight, so warm. He squeezes, massages, and Chris is making grunts of frustration. Lance likes teasing him, thinks, serves him right. "You think you can wait for just a second?" 

"Oh, I guess," Chris moans, all suffering and pathetic, and Lance knows the best way to shut him up is to tongue him, right there. Chris loves it, and Lance doesn't do it too often, so when he does, Chris is always surprised. "Oh, yeah, man. I fucking love you." 

"I can stop," Lance says, pulling back, and Chris tries to kick at him, growling, so Lance doesn't bother, just licks and sucks and slides his tongue in, wiggling it around. Chris tastes like soap, and skin, and a little bit of sweat. Pretty soon, Chris is humping the pillow, and Lance pulls back, grinning. "Okay. Beads." 

Chris makes a noise of extreme contentment, and Lance swipes his tongue one last time before kissing Chris's ass and getting to it. One of their cell phones is ringing, probably Chris's since he can't figure out how to turn it off, but Lance barely hears all. Chris is making too much noise, writhing loudly on the bed. 

"Is this all going to fit?" Lance asks, lifting up the string of beads, and Chris nods. "I don't know," Lance continues, making them all clatter together, "it's pretty long." And no, it's not really, maybe ten inches, about six beads, but he likes to hear Chris curse. "You sure?" 

"For fuck's sake," Chris growls, struggling because Lance is leaning on him, holding him down on his belly and laughing in his ear. Lance licks at his lobe a bit then pops the first bead in, loving how Chris stills, breathing hard. "You're a bastard, man." 

"Nah," Lance says, grinning, "just know to press your buttons." 

And the second one slides in with a pop. With one hand, Lance drizzles more lube over Chris's ass, his own hands, and rubs his fingers around, the third ball held with a slippery, fleeting grip. Third and fourth, and Chris is quiet, thoughtful, so Lance licks his neck as thanks. 

Fifth, and Chris shifts, just a bit, and Lance pauses. "You okay?" He asks, and Chris nods, shivering, and Lance folds over him, drags a kiss slowly, slowly down his spine. "Can you take the sixth? Hm, Chris?" And Chris nods, arching his back, as the last one slips in. 

And they stay there for awhile, with Lance kissing over the expanse of Chris's back, a palm pressed against Chris's ass, the ring at the end of the beads hooked over his middle finger, and Chris is mewing, thighs tight and tense. 

Lance starts to pull them out, folded over Chris and kissing his shoulders, and Chris is rocking against the pillow, and yeah, yeah, that's nice, Lance thinks, dizzy. Yeah. He thrusts against Chris's thigh, his cock hard and wet, and the first, second, slip out, slowly, slowly. Chris tips his head back, and Lance kisses his neck, mouth open. Yeah, yeah, and the third, fourth, are out, slowly, slowly, and it's like they're dancing, rocking together, the slip slide of sweaty flesh. Fifth and sixth, and Chris comes, opens his mouth and says, "oh, oh, Bass, oh." 

After, Chris circles Lance's cock with his hand, and jerks him off, grinning, and Lance grins back.


	11. The way to peace.

Chris goes out of town for a few days after a couple cancelled concerts and leaves Lance notes everywhere saying, "dick off-limits," "masturbating equals hairy palms," "you'll go blind, fucker, hands off the cock," on paper, on his phone, with JC, who just repeats it all without question. Chris phones up the first night and makes Lance promise, "no jerking off!" 

"Fine, fine," Lance says, "jeez." And doesn't touch his dick for the four days Chris is gone, and he feels like he's thirteen again. One gust of wind, and he's standing up tall, hard as a rock. Justin comments on it, and Lance feels like a tool. 

Chris shows up with a smile, and Lance is already at his pants, mouth drooling for a cock, but Chris pushes him away and says, "no, man. We're learning self-control. Let's sit with each other for awhile and love our bodies." Lance does not like the sound of that. 

So they sit on the bed and breathe together, and the minute Lance tries to stroke his dick, just once, Chris is shoving at him and saying, "no, no, come on, breathe with me, feel the power, find the way to peace," and Lance is sighing and saying, "the way to peace is through us fucking, Chris, I thought we established this." 

But Chris hushes him, and kisses him at the corner of the mouth, and Lance stops whining, though he's hard and suffering, and his groin just aches with his need. Chris strokes his hair, smiles, then he leaves with a warning, "do. _not_. touch your dick." 

The next day, they do the same thing, and Lance is miserable. He knows Tantric sex is supposed to be enlightening or something, but it's painful, and he's not at any level of inner peace. He can't concentrate; he can't think. He eats four hot dogs for dinner just because. This, Lance decides sadly, is the worst stupid Chris idea yet, and takes a long, hot bath. 

So they breath together, and Chris explains how Lance's centre of energy is bright and lovely, and Lance says, "please, please, fuck me," but Chris will have none of that, just gives Lance a sensual body massage and says is soul is sparkling and beautiful. 

Lance learns to piss through the constant erection, just squeezes his eyes shut and hopes the proper tube knows what it has to do, and sometimes, he feels on the verge of orgasm for no reason, like when he's slurping up a plate of spaghetti, or when Joey -- fucking _Joey_ \-- hugs him and Lance squirms away, about to come in his pants. It's a miserable four days, for sure. 

So when Chris shows up wearing a robe, Lance kicks him out of the room and refuses to talk to him, but Chris comes in through the hallway instead of the adjoining door and locks it up. Lance is lying on the bed, mourning the loss of sex, and Chris's weight dips the mattress as he sits down. 

"You okay, Bass?" Chris asks, and the bastard is smiling, Lance is sure of it, and he lays a warm palm over Lance's belly, sliding under his tee-shirt. His fingers are icy cold. Lance curls up on himself, rolling onto his side. "You pouting, Bass? What the fuck?" 

"I'm in a physical pain," Lance mutters, "you fucker." 

Chris climbs over him, straddles him, and he's not smiling at all, though he looks kinda sexy, sexual, his eyes all dark and smouldering. Lance almost pulls back when Chris kisses him, open-mouthed, lewd and hot. So fucking _wet_ , and Lance kisses back, desperate, a hand on Chris's face. 

"Get out of the clothes," Chris says, his robe already half off, and they both tear at Lance's pants, his shirt, and something rips, but does Lance care? No. And then they're twisting over the bed, a tangle of arms and legs, and they fall on the floor and don't feel it, and oh, fucking, fuck! Lance arches, blinding spots of light behind his eyes. Chris grips his hips painfully, whispering, "no, baby, hold on, hold on." 

Lance bites hard on his cheek, blood flowing over his tongue, and holds there shaking as Chris rolls down a condom, slicks up his own cock. Lance wraps his legs around Chris's hips, pulls him close, close, in, and yeah. Lance moans, kissing Chris's mouth as he's fucked hard and deep and yeah, yeah. Lance wails as he comes, feeling the heat hit his fingertips, and it hurts, hurts, but so good, so much raw. _pleasure_ , and there's a point where he's gone, and it's black, and he thinks he passed out and saw heaven. 

"Holy fuck," Chris says, panting in Lance's ear, "holy fuck. Oh. Wow. Oh. Jesus. Oh," and slides over Lance, shaking and heavy. Lance wraps his arms around him, just clings, because oh wow, indeed. Oh. Wow. "God, fuck. I didn't think that would really work, you know? Oh. Man. I think I passed out. Whoa." 

And Lance, numbly, agrees. The way to peace, indeed.


	12. Just for the taste of it, Diet Coke.

Sometimes, Chris comes up behind Lance and runs a finger from the top of his jaw to his shoulder, and Lance shivers hard. Sometimes, Chris comes up behind Lance and wraps his arms around his waist, and Lance smiles to himself. Sometimes, though, Chris is a fucking psycho, and Lance can't even begin to understand how the fuck his brain works, and even when he begins to understand, he's not sure he wants to. 

It's a long, boring, _long_ day, and Lance is sleepy from the sex last night, which went on for hours because the strange side effect of the Tantric sex was staying hard after coming three times, so they fucked like crazy monkeys forever, just because they could. Lance is sore and sleepy but sated, pretty fucking happy. Chris sidles up to him, with two cans of Diet Coke and wanders off again. Lance drinks them because he is thirsty. 

Later, someone's talking to him, trying to interview him, and Lance is so sleepy, so Chris stops by with another can, always so helpful, and Lance smiles sleepily. Mm, caffeine. It's the fourth can that causes Lance to pause, but Chris is gone before he can ask, and well, Lance isn't sure he wants to. 

The caffeine kicks in once the interviews are done, and Lance excuses himself politely, off to the john to take a piss, but JC starts hollering frantically about leaving, and they have to go now, and Lance thinks it's an emergency. When Lance asks, JC just shrugs and says, "I don't know. Chris was making a big fuss." 

So, yeah. There's something up, and Lance can't ask because the others don't know, and they're all piled into a limo, and Chris isn't looking at him. So, yeah, there's something, and Lance thinks he knows, because he's coming to understand Chris and how he thinks, and all about the world and the things people do behind closed doors. So, yeah, he knows. 

When they're back at the hotel, climbing slowly up the floors in the elevator, Lance waits, waits for that moment when Chris grabs his hand and tugs Lance into his room, waits for Chris to kiss him once and say, "come on, get undressed," and Lance does. Part of him still doesn't believe what his brain is thinking. Maybe he is vanilla, after all. 

Chris rubs his belly, traces the outline of Lance's abs with his thumb, then presses fast at the edge of his pelvic bone, down. Lance winches at the pressure and says, "hey," but Chris just looks at him and pulls him into the bathroom. So, yeah, okay, he gets it. It's sort of really kinky, but Lance will try anything once. Chris has taught him that. 

"You get what I want?" Chris asks quietly, and Lance nods. "Is it too much?" 

Lance thinks yes, but says, "no," and wonders what the polite and proper way to go about this is. Lance is a gentleman, after all. Plus, he's semi-hard, and Chris is still rubbing his belly, a constant pressure, and Lance is going to lose control very soon if he doesn't cut it out. That's probably the reason he's doing it, anyway. 

"Just. Not to me," Lance says because he doesn't think he's up for it tonight, not when he's so tired, not when he's still kind of turned off by the idea of. Of. Lance looks at Chris, and Chris nods. "How do you. I mean. What do you want me to do?" And it's so quiet, them in this cold bathroom, talking in a whisper. Chris looks thoughtful. 

"Just, um. Piss on me, I guess," Chris says, "my legs and whatever. Whatever you want to do, really," Chris adds, his hands folded on the rounds of Lance's shoulders, holding them close together. "You're acting weird, Bass." 

"So are you," Lance replies, and it's true, they both are, talking like they expect the other to laugh, or judge, or something, but this isn't about that, Lance knows it's not. "Just. Could we do this soon? I'm about to. piss all over you," Lance finishes lamely, and Chris grins, that grin he only shares with Lance because Lance is the only one who sees him like this. That, Lance thinks, is profound. 

Chris turns around, back exposed, and it's hard, Lance realises, hard to focus, with Chris so close, breathing calmly, deeply, but Lance concentrates, thinks fuck, I did this during the Tantra, I can do it now. He puts one hand on Chris's back, the other on his own dick, and pisses, and yeah. That's what Lance does. 

It takes Lance a moment to realise Chris is stroking his own cock then doesn't look at him again, just closes his eyes and feels the release of the pressure that's been plaguing him for hours. It's long, strangely so, and when he's done, Chris has come all over the shower wall. 

Chris turns on the water, and it's quiet.


	13. Tie me up, buttercup.

So Chris gets weird as fuck and avoids Lance, and after waiting for him to show after three nights, Lance gets so frustrated with Chris's freaky ass that Lance actively seeks him out. He finds him in his room, sleeping, and Lance kicks the bed to wake him. 

"Fuck off," Chris mutters, and Lance tries Chris's own approach and climbs on him, pulling off the blankets. He's sleeping in fucking boxers when he's supposed to be naked. "Jesus, Bass. Did you not hear me? Fuck off." 

"Fuck. You," Lance says precisely and tugs off his own shirt, still straddling Chris, and before he understands what he's doing, Lance reaches into the pocket of his khakis and gets out his Swiss Army knife key-chain. Without really thinking, he cuts the shirt to ribbons with the blade. "See, Chris, this is how we work. We try something, we either like it or we don't, and we try something else. You, Chris, are fucking with the method." 

And Lance grabs Chris's wrist and ties it to the bedpost with a piece of shirt then does it to the other one, pleased, at least, that Chris isn't really fighting, just looking sour and wiggling a bit. "And see. This is the best sex I've ever had, and I'm not going to let you force me back to groupies who won't even suck my cock and swallow simply because you think I think you're a freak for liking something, when I don't." 

Chris struggles at that but too late, fucker, Lance thinks wryly, sliding down his legs, I already have you in my web. "And you know, what would my mother say about me actually liking fisting? Hm? Or the guys?" Chris opens his mouth, and Lance folds a palm over it. "Yeah, Chris, I liked it. Heck, I loved it. I want you to do it to me. I want to do it to you. I, the vanilla Southern boy, love fisting, so before you think you're a weirdo, please think about what my Baptist upbringing says about premarital, gay, kinky sex and get back to me. Okay?" 

Chris smiles at that, and Lance turns around to tie up his ankles, making it just tight enough that Chris isn't going anywhere. That hard thing poking into Lance's thigh, oh, look, it would be Chris's cock, and Lance flips around to face Chris. "And hey, wow. I guess I do have toppy-tendencies. Who knew?" 

"You're fucked up, Bass," Chris says fondly, and Lance leans over to kiss him, sliding his tongue in between his lips, and oh yeah, this is what Lance was missing, the slippery slide of Chris's mouth with his and the feel of him so close. "I was getting to this one, you know." 

Lance smirks and rubs his hands over Chris's chest, plucking at his nipples, and that gets the first buck out of Chris and the following, "oh, fuck! This is why I've never, ever let anyone tie me up, Bass, fuck you!" And Lance grins against his mouth and shuts him up with a messy kiss, rocking against Chris's cock through his boxers. 

Lance pulls away, and Chris moans about his suffering and his discomfort, but Lance ignores him. Lance picks up his Swiss Army knife again and holds it against Chris's thigh. "Stay still, Chris," Lance says and cuts off his boxers, splitting the fabric slowly, slowly. Chris holds so still he's quivering, like he's really and truly trying, and Lance appreciates that. 

"Hi," Lance says, sitting on his legs, and Chris smirks but says, "hi." Lance cups Chris's dick between his palms, like he's praying, and rolls it between his palms, just a little bit, and Chris's eyes twitch back. The shirt is taut as Chris struggles, and Lance massages Chris's cock without urgency, just a casual Sunday stroll through the park. 

"Bass, come on," Chris says impatiently, and Lance shakes his head, no, no, no, and smiles. Chris groans and wiggles and repeats, "Bass, come on," but Lance just grins and pulls his hands away. "You and your power trips, man! You're so. So mean," Chris finishes lamely, his shoulders cracking as he pulls, but Lance ignores him. This is fun. "Lance, please. Please." 

Lance tilts his head, thinking, then says, "okay," and climbs off Chris, walking into the bathroom to grab the lube and condoms and comes out, stripping down as he goes. "Mm, mm, mm," Lance sings as he rolls the condom down on Chris then slicks up Chris's dick, using his fingertips. Chris moans wailingly. Lance smiles. "Patience, my young padawan." 

Chris blinks then grins, the big geek. "I fucking love you, man. I fucking love you," he says, and Lance laughs, climbing on Chris's body then sinking slowly, slowly down as Chris shuts up and pulls against the bonds. Lance hushes him, hands on his chest, and Chris nods. 

And it's a quiet sort of fucking, slow and deep, while Chris struggles and wants to touch, but Lance is the only one allowed, and says, "shh, shh, let me do all the work," and Chris nods. In and out, so full, so good, and Lance closes his eyes, tipping his head forward. It's nice, he thinks, this is nice. He hopes Chris isn't going to be stupid about this again. 

Later, Lance unties Chris and massages his sore shoulders and kisses him until he falls asleep, heavy on Lance's belly as he snores, and Lance snuggles close to him, reaching down once to scratch his balls, which aren't quite as itchy anymore.


	14. The great outdoors.

JC gets the brilliant idea to go camping in Colorado, and Lance makes the plans, right down to the tents and who's in which one, and what to eat, and where to go, and god! Lance just loves to plan. Pre-Christopher, it was better than sex, and now, Lance thinks with a sated smile, it isn't at all. 

While Joey and Lance set up the tents, Chris runs around, jumping on Justin and wrestling JC to the ground, and all is right with the world. Later, outside the outhouse, Lance and Chris kiss for a bit, Chris's hand curled at the small of Lance's back, and they stop when Justin announces that he has to crap and do not, under any circumstances, eat all the burgers before he comes back. 

Joey drinks himself unconscious then it's a group effort to drag him into the tent, and Justin proclaims JC can stay with him in his tent since Joey is probably going to puke all over everything. Lance strips Joey naked, and zips him into his sleeping bag, and leaves a bucket by his head. 

It's late, late, late when Lance wakes up from his nap on the picnic table, still kind of plastered, to Chris grinning down at him, then his arms are full of Chris, his mouth open, his leg curling around Chris's thigh. When Chris yanks his arms, Lance follows him and shivers. It's a little cold. 

"I found this place," Chris whispers, and Lance grabs his hand. It's so dark and so late, and Lance doesn't want to get lost. Chris tightens his fingers and tugs Lance close, breathing on Lance's lips. "Come on. I want to show you. But be quiet." 

Lance follows, wearing sandals and shorts and nothing else, and Chris's hand is hot against Lance's palm. Sticks snap under Lance's foot, and he steps in something squishy and doesn't want to think about it. They get to a little clearing, just a patch of land where there are no trees, and Lance can see the lake sparkling under the moon in the distance. Chris grins and pushes Lance's shorts off his hips. 

"Come on," Chris whispers, mouth open on Lance's neck, "I want to run around a bit before fucking," and then Lance is naked, and so is Chris. Chris laughs, like he can see the face Lance knows he's making, and pulls him along. Lance hopes, just prays, that all the photographers are asleep and not filming this, and then he frolics. 

They skip around, laughing, grabbing each other's dicks, and Lance thinks, this is so weird, but fun. Then Chris wacks him with a stick across the ass, and Lance chases him, careful of his cock and balls in the dark and knowing one of them is going to get injured. Of course, Chris goes flying but barely seems to notice and tries to climb a tree, his skinned knee bleeding. 

"Get down," Lance demands, grabbing him by the waist and pulling, and then he has an armful of heavy Kirkpatrick. They tumble back into mud, and Chris is laughing, and so is Lance, pressed into the earth. "Ow, fuck. I think there's a twig in my ass." 

Chris reaches between Lance legs, grinning against Lance's neck, and feels around, poking with determined fingers. Lance throws back his head, cushioned by soft dirt, and laughs harder, wiggling away from Chris while he prods. "Hey, hey," Chris says, "no stick here. Might have to go deeper, though, you know, be thorough," and a finger slides in, dry. 

"Fuck me," Lance says, breathes it, and Chris gets up to get stuff, but Lance is comfortable, with the chill in the air cooling heated skin, and the sounds of leaves rustling, and the feel of the earth under his back. "No, no. Just do it now," Lance murmurs, the warmth of Chris the only unnatural thing he feels, and spreads his legs. "Mm, come on, Chris. It'll be good." 

And Chris pushes, puts his face against Lance's neck and breathes, and Lance tips his head back into the dirt, cushioned by it. He dips his fingers into Chris's hair, holds him close, until he's in, raw and hot and kind of painful but natural, and Chris moves in a way that isn't thrusting but just pressure, tiny jolts of it. The winds blows, soft against their skin, and Lance smiles. 

This is the great outdoors.


	15. Ladies, size small.

Lance looks up from his computer smiling as Chris comes in through the adjoining doors, buck naked with his arms behind his back. He strikes a pose, one leg forward, and Lance fights the pangs of envy that Chris’s balls are hairy again and Lance’s just aren’t at all. Chris clears his throat. 

“Today, Bass, is your lucky day. This fabulous specimen of a man is wearing nothing but his birthday suit and a pair of latex gloves, ladies, size small!” Chris exclaims it enthusiastically, throwing up his hands and wiggling his fingers, and Lance grins as Chris flutters over to the bed, attempting to look sultry. or something. Lance isn’t sure. “In addition to the spirited fingers, you get the entire hand! What a steal!” Chris puts his fingers to his mouth, looking shocked, and Lance laughs loudly. “A special offer, today only. I just need your credit card number.” 

“What if I just want the hand?” Lance asks, his belly flip-flopping all round, pretty fucking excited, though he knows he shouldn’t be, really knows his mother wouldn’t approve. Chris shakes his head, backing away, and Lance grabs him by the hips. “You really want to do that?” 

“You said you liked it,” Chris replies, snapping his fingers, and Lance kisses him, four fast ones then one lingering kiss, tasting him, and he thinks, taco bell for dinner, blah. Chris runs his gloved hands up Lance’s thighs and pushing him to the bed. “So, credit card number?” 

“Chris, you _know_ it already,” Lance says, laughing, “shut up,” and Chris jumps on him, wrestling him to his back then poking at his ass until Lance lifts his hips and lets the pillow slide underneath him. “God, I’m so excited. My mother would be appalled.” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, consorting with such a weirdo, like, what a freak. You know me, strictly vanilla. You’ve tainted my poor, innocent mind,” Chris says, licking Lance’s ear, and Lance laughs harder, spreading his legs. “Want me to shave your balls again?” 

“No, no,” Lance says, “never again. So fucking itchy, and it’s so sparse!” Lance exclaims, lifting his hips and gesturing to his nuts. Chris hums, feels around as Lance squirms, tears streaming down his face, with Chris going, “you sure you’re twenty-two, boy? You sure? You sure?” 

“Cut it out!” Lance yelps, still laughing, “I’m going to come!” And Chris pulls his hand back, slapping Lance’s ass lightly before licking at the dimple of Lance’s belly button, the flat of his tongue pressing downward along the line of hair. Lance shivers and arches. “Jesus, Chris. Come on. Come. On.” 

“Jeez, Bass. All right. You fisting freak, you,” Chris mutters fondly and sticks two lubed fingers into Lance’s ass, just like that. Lance sighs happily as Chris takes some time, lots of sweet time, to work them around. “Dude.” Chris rubs over Lance’s prostate, tapping at it, and Lance squirms desperately. “You’re, like, the craziest bottom ever.” 

“With toppy tendencies,” Lance adds, moaning loudly as he spreads his legs wider, pushing at Chris’s hand. Two fingers, it’s nothing, and Lance needs, wants, has to have more, and three, Lance lets Chris in, pulling back his own knees, three is so much nicer. Lance just loves three. “Yeah, yeah. come on.” 

“When I was five years old, I went to the zoo and saw two gazelles fuck,” Chris announces, twisting his three fingers deeper into Lance’s ass, and Lance laughs, fucking laughs, because oh god, _gazelles_! “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Laugh at me. I was scarred, man.” 

“Will you shut up about the gazelles?” Lance asks, groaning when Chris slides in another finger, and it’s nothing too uncomfortable because Lance can take it, likes it, has spent a month dreaming about this. He humps the pillow pathetically, desperate, as Chris stretches. “I don’t care about the gazelles.” 

Chris ignores him. “And in tenth grade, I saw my much reviled algebra teacher giving head to my much beloved drama teacher, and I was scarred too, but mostly because I jerked off for forty-five days straight thinking about it, and I still failed algebra,” Chris explains and goes on to tell about the guy he blew every Tuesday in the change room after football practice with the one testicle, and the two males dogs in the neighbourhood who liked to hump around and be gay together, even though they both sired several puppies and at least seven other strange sex-related stories, and they just go on forever until Lance stops him. 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Lance asks, drooling because it’s so good, so good, and Chris is only up to four fingers, but the feel of them, the slick slide of these digits into Lance’s ass, he just loves it. Chris sighs loudly, and Lance bucks as he feels the thumb, and oh, so fucking full, so. “Ow. Chris, ow.” 

“See, I told you. It wasn’t just me being a wimp,” Chris says, and the tube of lubricant farts loudly as Chris slops more on. It’s never going to come out of the sheets, Lance thinks dreadfully. “And you’re going to be walking funny for days, and dude, that first crap you take is going to be an experience you don’t want to repeat again for awhile. I’m just saying.” 

Lance forces himself to relax, and suddenly appreciates the stories because they took up time, and ouch. Really, Lance isn’t sure about this anymore, his fears about the destruction of a very important anus are coming back, but Chris isn’t stopping, just rubs and twists and pokes at Lance’s prostate until Lance is seeing triple. After while, Lance thinks he’ll be all right after all. “All right,” he mumbles. “Okay. I’m good. I’m. peachy keen.” 

“Oh, gee, golly, are you?” Chris asks then leans up and whispers, “hold still, baby, it only really hurts for a minute,” then slowly, slowly goes his whole fucking hand, and Lance thinks, I hope he took off his watch. “Hm, it is kind of hot from this angle. Bass, I think you’re a size queen.” 

“Oh, you think, dumbass?” Lance mutters, before he realises how stupid that is, and they’re both laughing, Chris wailing while his hand jiggles, and whoa. Sparkles, in the corner of Lance’s eyes, and oh god, oh god. “Your hand is in my ass, Chris, and. And, move,” Lance breathes, loving it, “please.” 

And Chris moves, and Lance feels his orgasm spreads across his shoulder first then down his spine then just everywhere, and he knows he’s screaming, he knows he should be quiet and knows he isn’t, and he loves it, he loves it. Though he thinks Chris must be a ladies, size medium, at least. at least.


	16. What goes up, must come down.

Lance's story goes like this: he is trying to get out of the shower but steps on a dropped bar of soap and ends up doing the splits, wholly against his will. In the meantime, he pulls the muscles in his groin, and that's why he's limping for two days. 

On the third day, they all get trapped in an elevator. Lance is actually surprised Chris isn't freaking out, what with the phobia and the heights and the elevator stopping between floors twelve and fourteen, and all the lights flickering on and off, and Justin yelping into the emergency phone for help! But he's good, just standing close. 

"You okay?" Lance asks, tickling the back of his neck, and Chris nods, stepping back so there's barely a hair's width between them. Up above, the light goes off completely, and Justin is talking quietly but frantically into the phone with Joey chattering over his shoulder. JC is silent. 

When Chris's hand folds over his cock, Lance catches his breath then says to himself, quiet, quiet. He puts his hand over Chris's shoulder and looks at a spot on the door, and he breathes as Chris flicks his wrist, head tipped forward. Lance feels the zipper on his pants sliding down then the slightly chilly hand against his thigh. 

And Lance cannot believe this, cannot believe that Chris is doing this, right here, right now, in an elevator, while Justin freaks out and Joey tries to be supportive and JC stares at nothing. But it's thrilling in a way that Lance is no longer trying to explain, to be doing this, where they could be discovered. It's like it was with Justin there, chatting, not knowing, not suspecting, that Chris was fucking Lance's ass while they spoke. 

Lance bites his lip and leans back against the wall, Chris's fingers working down his boxers, bunching them below his ass, and then. Oh god. Lance remembers to breathe, those fingers inside his pants, on his dick, milking. Lance tilts his head to the side, and JC looks at him but doesn't say anything, just puts his finger to his lips and smiles. 

Lance feels the muscles in his legs tighten at that, and he scraps his fingers against the wall, gritting his teeth because oh god, JC knows, and he's watching, and fuck, Lance thinks, fuck, that's so goddamn hot, I'm such a pervert; what did Chris do to me? 

"Hey, Chris," Joey says, and Chris lifts his head. "You wanna talk to the bozo?" 

"Nah," Chris says, slowly, and his voice is so steady, so in control, but his hand, Lance can feel the blood race through his ears, Chris's hand isn't stopping. He knows the path blindly, Lance thinks, Chris's hand rocking back and forth in his pants, pressing down on his dick. "I'll just get them to keep us here longer, out of spite." 

"Lance?" Joey asks. 

"No, I don't think so," Lance replies, a buzzing in his head that makes it hard to speak, but Joey makes noise back at him, and he thinks, he hopes, he really didn't just say, "yeah, yeah, fuck, Chris. Your hand, so good, fuck," because that's what he's thinking, that's what he wants. Lance presses his lips together, his tongue snaking out between them, and looks at JC again, who's watching, staring. His eyes are no longer on Lance's face but on Chris's hand. 

The elevator shakes into motion again, bumpy and hard, and Lance comes, just like that, with a sharp gasp of surprise swallowed by the deafening whirr of gears. JC says nothing when the doors slide open, and Chris wipes his palm on a twenty, and Lance follows them all out, with wobbling knees and a limp dick.


	17. I spy with my little eye.

Chris wants to ask something, and Lance can't figure it out, and there aren't any telltale cans of Diet Coke, so it's probably something else. At any rate, Lance catches up on email while Chris pretends he's not trying to ask something, walking around, before saying, "voyeurism. Can you dig it?" 

"I don't know, Shaft, can I?" Lance replies, smirking, and Chris wraps his arms around Lance's neck then noogies his head until it aches. Lance kicks his laptop off the bed in the struggle, and the screen cracks, and shit, fifth computer in two months. Lance sighs, and Chris kisses his man-handled scalp apologetically. "Well, sure. I guess. Why?" 

"Tonight," Chris says mysteriously then orders a large pizza with all the toppings Lance likes, as well as bacon for himself. They munch while watching the television and prank calling Justin pretending to be room service, and Justin sends them a plate of breaded calamari, which Chris wears as rings until the grease gives him burns. 

Later, Chris makes Lance follow him down the hotel hallway then into the elevator, up three floors to a room four doors down that Chris says is just a room like any other, and Lance shivers. He holds Chris's hand, rubbing his thumb over the red rings around Chris's fingers. 

"And now, we wait," Chris says grandly, sitting on the couch facing the bed, and smiles in the dark, Lance can see the gleam of his teeth and runs his thumb across it. Chris nips at his thumb, but they both stop when the door opens and Chris hooks his chin over Lance's shoulder, a heavy hand on Lance's thigh. 

JC notices them briefly then leads the girl to the bed, and she glances at them, big, dark, wide eyes then kisses JC's neck. Whoa, Lance thinks, and shifts, leaning against Chris as his arms circle Lance's waist. Chris's hand cups Lance's dick through his pants, and Lance can honestly say he barely notices, is too focussed on the girl and the boy, and, "thank god, I still like women." 

Chris licks at Lance's ear and laughs quietly, putting his fingers over Lance's lips, hushing him, and Lance figures, he can celebrate his raging bisexuality more joyously later. Right now, he watches the naked flesh as it's bared, a long lean body haloing a small but equally lithe one. The girl is making these sounds of pleasure, and Lance thinks, she almost sounds like Chris but not. 

Chris rubs Lance's cock, and Lance pushes back at him, mostly subconscious because, hello, people having sex in front of them. Lance is simply enthralled. It's the best porn he's ever watched, and he suddenly realises, holy shit, JC is doing the choreography to Space Cowboy. He needs to tell Chris, but he can't, and he wants to laugh because, fuck, that's so _weird_. 

JC is in her now, her legs around his waist, and she scratches at his back, leaving dark lines. Lance narrows his eyes and realises she's biting his shoulder too, teeth bared, and Lance knew about that particular kink but never really saw it, never really got behind the closed door. Chris spreads his fingers, dragging them up the line of Lance's cock, and Lance tips his head back and shudders. He can smell the sex in the room. 

The girl comes with a mew, and JC thrusts four more times before he slows, and they whisper for a bit then she kisses him on the neck and leaves. JC sits up, all naked and sweaty, and his shoulder's bleeding, just a little bit. He touches his fingers to it, draws them back and licks them clean. 

"Thanks," he says and pulls his pants back on then walks over to kiss them both on the lips, close-mouthed. "You guys are sweet, you know?" He ruffles Lance's hair and punches Chris lightly on the shoulder then leaves bare foot. 

Lance turns to Chris, and Chris kisses him on the lips. "He was curious," Chris whispers, to quiet all the questions in Lance's head, and Lance nods, slowly, like maybe he understands curiosity. "and he asked, so. We watched, and I don't think it'll happen again." 

Later, Lance is on the bed, Chris thrusting into him, and it's better this way, he thinks, without the audience, because then Chris can whisper stories in Lance's ear, and Lance can laugh at them, even as he comes. Lance thinks, I spy with my little eye, something that is mine.


	18. A phallus a day keeps the doctor away.

"Ho, ho, ho," Chris says merrily, "Santa Cocks has arrived," and dumps a whole box full of dildos onto the bed, at least ten, Lance thinks, picking one up to examine its flesh-coloured realness. Oh lord. "I got you a couple large ones," Chris explains, smacking Lance on the head with a big black one, "because you're size queen," and bops Lance on the forehead. 

Lance grabs another one, and it's fucking huge, and it's all he can do not to spread his legs and shove it in. This is the best gift he's ever got. Lance curls a hand around Chris's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. "Thank you," Lance says, licking at Chris's lips. "They're fabulous." 

"Absolutely, darling," Chris replies, holding one that's sparkly and pink and reminds Lance of JC, if JC was a dildo instead of a man. Lance is beginning to suspect he's both. "And all right, probably impolite of me to say spread your legs because I just got here, but. Spread ‘em, cowpoke," and Lance obliges, helpful to a fucking fault, as Chris squirts lube everywhere. 

"You know," Lance says suddenly, just in case it needs to be stated, like, out loud, and with Chris it usually does because Chris is an auditory person and needs to be told things. "I love your cock a lot. It's more than enough." 

"Yeah, but I'm not grotesquely disproportionate," Chris replies, sliding the sparkly pink dildo into Lance's ass, and oh, Lance thinks with a gasp, big. "See, I accept my limitations, and I think the fact that I give head better than most people in the world more than makes up for the fact I'm not monstrously hung." 

"You do give great head," Lance agrees, "I won't mind some right now." 

"Oh, aren't we greedy?" Chris says, laughing, "but soon, because I bet you never had someone suck your cock and fuck your ass, all at the same time." And he plucks the dildo from Lance's ass, grabbing the one that looks like a dick and sliding it in. Lance sighs happily. 

Chris goes through all of them, one by one, and Lance nuzzles the bedspread with his cheek, the pleasure not at all intense, just there, a constant pressure. When number ten is tested to a deep -- "ohhhh" -- Lance rolls onto his side, propped up by his elbow, and Chris mimics him, grinning. Lance scoots close and whispers, "bend your leg, put your knee on my hip." 

Chris lifts his leg and tucks it against Lance, nested in the dip, and Lance drags kisses over Chris's neck, twisting his top leg around Chris's left thigh, until they're almost knotted. "You want fingers?" Lance asks because sometimes he needs them, but Chris shakes his head, tongues Lance's ear. Lance reaches for the smaller blue one, with the happy face at the end, and hoists Chris's leg higher on his hip. Between them, their dicks grind together, like they've never met before, and Lance gently, gently lubes Chris then inserts the dildo. 

"I lied about being a bottom too," Chris confesses suddenly, his hand slung low over Lance's hip, fingers sliding across the small of Lance's back, "that first time," and Lance tips his head, his hand against Chris's ass. Chris looks like this a serious admission, but Lance knew, of course he knew. "So, yeah. Um. Moment of seriousness ended. Please resume." 

So Lance does.


	19. Say when.

Lance is buzzing from all the caffeine in his blood by the time Chris finally shows up, and he knows Chris is standing at the end of the bed, so he lifts his head and smiles dazedly. Chris pounces, all heavy weight and short legs, and Lance eeps loudly, holding his stomach. 

"Oh, jeez," Lance gasps, pressing his legs together, and Chris pulls back, confused as Lance closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to think about deserts and dehydration. "Oh, man," and he reaches out to tug Chris back and the five empty cans of Diet Coke on the bedside table clatter noisily to the ground. 

Chris stares at them then at Lance then at his hands, and Lance sighs because the dumb motherfucker is being stupid again, and Lance told him to stop doing that. Lance sits up and reaches for Chris's fingers, and Chris yanks them back, tries to pull away. Lance won't let him. 

"It's a you day," Lance says simply, because it is, because Lance says so. "And fuck, Chris, we've been through this, all right? All right?" Lance repeats and pokes Chris in the stomach, which Chris absolutely hates. Chris bats at him irritably. "Chris. Chris. All right?" 

"You don't have to," Chris mutters, collapsing beside Lance, and Lance touches his hip, happy that he's already naked. "It's not like. I'm not into it, really," Chris amends, scratching a hand through his hair, and Lance adds his fingers and plays with it then plays with Chris's cock a bit, which is getting fuller, heavier by the second. 

"You're into it," Lance says, "and that's okay. And fuck, man. Can we angst later? Please?" Lance rubs his belly, squeezing his thighs together, because oh, ow. He's cramping, and ow. He puts Chris's hand on his belly, makes him press down, so he understands that this is so premeditated, so wanted. Chris's fingers scritch softly over his belly and push lightly. Lance is going to explode. "Chris. Stop being a fucker about this, all right? I want to do this with you." 

And that makes Chris think, Lance can tell by the way his forehead wrinkles, and so what if it's not exactly normal? Normal is so subjective, Lance thinks, and it's just another thing, just another one. Lance can almost understand, anyway, suspects he might, when he thinks about the heat, the alive and burning heat of it. Lance is about to bring up the JC biting thing when Chris looks up and nods. 

"Good," Lance says and tugs him up, holding his hands as he lures Chris to the bathroom, grinning at him, and Chris. does something back, a new expression that is probably a cross between disbelief and a smile. Lance dances with him a bit, tips him back and shimmies his hips, and Chris pinches him on the ass, their feet moving across cold tile. 

They dance into the tub, and Chris starts getting shy again, pulling away, but Lance punches him in the gut and says, "fuck off." Chris stares at him, like he can't believe, so Lance kisses him, throws all his weight on Chris's chest and makes the arms circle his waist. His lower belly is full and tight, so he folds Chris's hand over his half-hard dick, keeps the fingers there, and Lance smiles. "Say when." 

And Chris says, "when."


	20. Is that a vibrator in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

There's nothing like pissing on your kinky sex partner to bring you closer, Lance thinks dazedly, rolling around on the bed while Chris howls in his ear and strips off his clothes. Chris has been in such a good mood that Lance can barely walk, they're fucking so much, and Chris bought Lance three beautiful shirts for no reason. Lance doesn't think he's ever been happier. 

"I gotta treat for you, Bass," Chris announces, clinging to Lance's back, and Lance nods, trying to pry him off because the fucker is big and heavy and Lance doesn't want to say anything because Chris is a fucking pussy about his chunkiness, even though Lance thinks it's endearing. "You want to see it? Want me to show it to you?" 

"I've seen your dick, Chris, I'm not falling for this again," Lance says, smirking wryly, and Chris yowls in his ear, laughing delightedly. "You know, if you want me to go down on you, you really just need to ask, or look at me, or breathe," and Chris grins, nuzzling Lance's cheek. "All right. I give up. Show it to me." 

"That's the spirit, sport," Chris says, slapping Lance on the ass before bearing down on Lance, holding him flush against the bed. Lance pushes his hips up, spreading his legs, and oh god, but it's hard to get comfortable with Chris all over him like he is. "Jesus, Bass. Holy still. Man. Just give me a second here. I forget how it works." 

Then whoa, wow, Lance is strumming suddenly, and that is not Chris's cock as originally suspected. Lance grins, and can't stop himself, and doesn't even try, "is that a vibrator in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" And Chris laughs loudly. 

"I've ruined you with bad humour, man, that makes me so fucking happy," Chris admits, "but a little bit of both, man. Just, hold still, I gotta find those special places," and Chris presses it to the patch of skin behind Lance's balls, all thrumming and buzzing, and fuck, Lance thinks, fuck, fuck, fuck. "Is it good?" 

"Seeing stars," Lance murmurs, drooling, because oh wow, there are pockets of light behind his eyes, and his balls hurt they're feeling so much. Chris puts his hands on Lance's hips and flips him over. Lance smiles dazzlingly, fingers touching Chris's face. "Hey, baby." 

"Hey," Chris says, "spread your legs, man, lift your knees," and Lance obliges, hooking one leg over Chris's shoulder, the other against the bed. "Fuck, how I do love a flexible young stud of a man," and nibbles down Lance's thigh, moving the vibrator to Lance's ass. Lance jumps, hitting Chris in the side of the head with his knee, and Chris says, "whoa there, cowboy." 

"You try sitting here passive while I stick buzzing happy things near your hyper-sensitive anus, and we'll see how still you lie," Lance snarks, toes curling as Chris works harder, determined now to be a pest, and Lance is just thrumming, shaking. Chris pulls the vibrator away, and Lance moans, groans, begs, until it's back, touching one nipple then the other. He yelps, "holy fucking good god, Chris!" 

"The mouth on you, boy," Chris says, laughing, and Lance smirks at him, sticks out his tongue, onto which Chris firmly attaches himself, a big ol' sloppy kiss that Lance loves. He hates, however, the fact that Chris is avoiding his dick. "I wanna see if you can come from this alone," Chris explains, though Lance didn't ask, and knows he didn't need to anyway. 

"I bet you twenty bucks it'll take no more than five minutes," Lance pants, squirming his hips, and Chris grins, saying, "thirty bucks that you come in two minutes," and Lance agrees to the bet, even though he's beginning to believe he'll end up paying Chris for sex, which is prostitution, kinda of, in a way, but fuck, it doesn't _matter_. It feels so good. 

And yeah, it takes him a minute and forty-five seconds, Chris says, before Lance is shooting everywhere, getting Chris in the eye, which sets him off laughing loudly and making a scene about being blinded by spunk. Lance covers his face, grinning, until Chris comes bounding back, and Lance sucks him off until he screams.


	21. For external use only.

Lance remembers the dumbass shit he heard about in high school, like the jock who fucked a microwaved cantaloupe and burned his cock, and Lance suspects Chris was one of those guys, sticking his dick wherever it fit. "Chris, I don't know. I've heard about creams." 

"Fuck, no, Bass, listen to me," Chris says, smacking Lance on the forehead with a tube, and that's the other thing Lance is unsure of. It's called Cherry Sta-Hard. What happened to the y? Lance needs to know. "It says it's okay. Come on. We can fuck for hours." 

Lance twists up his face and reads the tube again, looking for that mention of mucous membranes and external use only, but there's only a dude in a jockstrap, looking cocky. Chris purrs in Lance's ear, trying to be sexy, and it's just weird, so Lance ignores him. 

"It looks all right," Lance finally admits reluctantly, Chris draped over him like a wet blanket, squirming impatiently, such a fucking pain in the ass. Lance doesn't mind so much anymore. "You didn't buy it out of the trunk of a car, did you?" 

"Bass, come on, give me some credit." Chris pauses. "I bought it off the Internet." 

Lance shakes his head, and Chris beams, shoving Lance back and licking at his belly until Lance is squealing, trying to push him away. They tangle and twist on the bed for awhile, kissing like teenagers, and eventually, Lance is flat on his back, leg curled around Chris's waist. "Are you sure this won't destroy my rectum?" 

"Pretty sure," Chris replies, "and hey, even if it does, my dick will probably rot off, too. We can be freaks together." Lance smirks, lips twisted, and Chris laughs. "Well, more so than we already are, you know. I'll probably lose my balls, too. True castrato." 

Lance's belly flutters, and he frowns. "You aren't helping, you know." 

"Taking the joke one step too far again, aren't I?" Chris ask, and Lance nods because he is, he always does, but he kisses Chris when he frowns because it's not like Lance really minds. "Here, I know," Chris mumbles, squirting the cream on his fingers, then whoa. Two fingers into his own ass, just like that, and Lance is hard, rock hard, just like that. Oh fuck, but he loves fingering. 

Chris makes a thoughtful face, twisting his fingers around. "Um. Doesn't seem to be working. Let's try this," and Chris slathers his cock, using way too much, Lance thinks, but he doesn't say anything. Chris scowls. "Fuck, man. This shitty stuff doesn't even work." 

Lance touches Chris's cock curiously then brings his hand back, rubbing the pads of his fingers together, and well, hey, at least it's slippery and lube-like. He shrugs and spreads his legs wider, grinning. Sex is sex, really. Chris slides right in, and Lance wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him close. "Mm, that's it." 

"You are so _fuckable_ , man," Chris breathes in his ear, thrusting casually, taking his sweet ass time, and Lance gyrates his hips lewdly, all take me, take me now. Chris palms his chest, plucking at his nipples then slides his hand down Lance's belly, stroking his cock with slippery fingers, and Lance hums, licking his lips, trying to lure Chris in deeper. Chris pauses, all of a sudden, and wrinkles his nose. "Huh. All right. Kinda numb." 

Lance opens his eyes. "Oh really?" And Chris nods, and Lance has to admit his ass is feeling kind of cold, like, usually he's all writhing and squealing and he's not, doesn't even feel the urge. "Oh. Okay. Well, that means it's working, right? Slowing us down." 

"Or destroying our respective rectums. I shoved a lot of that stuff up my ass, dude," Chris admits, and Lance realises the backs of his thighs are kind of lacking all sensation. Chris always does things in excess, Lance fears, the cream is probably everywhere. Chris pumps his hips a few more times. "Uh. I can't really feel anything, actually." 

"What? Seriously?" Lance clenches his ass muscles, or thinks he does, because, huh, his anus is no longer answering his brain. Oh fuck, Lance thinks. "You used too much," Lance says, bringing his numb hand to his face, and he gnaws on his thumb, not feeling it. "Fuck." 

Lance lets Chris thrust a few more times, and Lance smacks his head with his palm, not believing this, not believing they. "We fucking defeated the entire point of sex, Chris," Lance says, sighing deeply, and adds, "jeez. Cut it out. It's not going to work," and Chris pulls out, poking at his cock for awhile until he shrugs. 

"Wanna play Playstation instead?" Chris asks, perking right up, and Lance nods because, fuck, Chris kicked his ass last time, and gloated, and Lance has some wounded manly pride issues to deal with, so they curl up together in the blankets, numb and cold, but laughing.


	22. King of the cock.

When Chris complains about being hungry, everyone ignores him, and he stretches it on for an hour, lurching everywhere, turning down everything offered. Lance tries to disregard him, but with Chris flailing about melodramatically, it's hard, and Lance grabs him by the arm. 

"I'm hungry," Chris says, and grins, and oh shit, Lance thinks, I walked right into that one, letting Chris finish the whisper, "for cock." And he says it lewdly, all over enunciating it and spitting a bit on the last letter. "For you, baby. Let's get out of here, Bass." 

"I'm going to feed him," Lance announces, which sets off the pet jokes, and Chris wet willies Justin until he sulks, and god, Chris is, like, six, except that he's legal to have sex with and Lance is going to stop being funny now. _Right_. 

Lance goes to his room and is pressed to the doorjamb when Chris slides by, and then, yeah, yeah, Chris's hands are down his pants, and yeah. He pushes back a little bit and slams the door, locking it. Chris is so fucking close, and Lance is just clawing at his clothes. 

"So hungry," Chris growls, and Lance tries to move to the bed, but it's hard because his jeans are around his ankles. They trip, of course, and crawl to the bed, stripping, and Chris is repeating, "so hungry, so hungry," over and over again, fingers pressed into Lance's hips. 

"Want to try something pretty normal?" Chris asks, and Lance nods because, well, he needs a break, really. Just needs Chris, right now, actually. Chris flings himself on the bed, and Lance slowly, carefully, climbs on after him. He's afraid, suddenly, because nothing is ever simple with Chris. "Come on, Bass. Here." 

"Uh. what are we?" Lance tries to ask, but Chris is already arranging him, rolling him onto his side, crooking his leg, and it's only when Chris's dick bonks him on the nose that Lance gets it, though, really, it can't be that easy. "What am I supposed to do?" 

"Uh, hi, Bass. You've sucked a dick before," Chris says, all bemused and grinning, and Lance bites him on the hip, laughing. Chris bats at him, "hey, hey, Bass, come on," and sucks on Lance's dick, tonguing and slurping, and wow. Chris pulls back, sloppy lips gleaming. "Hey, I bet you thirty bucks I can make you come first. You still owe me thirty." 

Which Chris has only been mentioning every day for a week and, "fuck, Chris, all right. You'll get your money, just shut up about it. I'll buy you dinner or something, a movie, whatever," and licks Chris's shaft, daintily at first, just to piss him off. It's a big mistake. 

"Okay, fine, Bass." That's his no-shit voice, Lance knows. "I win, you admit it's a date and not just dinner or _something_ , and we do something real fancy," Chris says, and swallows Lance's dick down his fucking throat, and Lance is envious. He can't do that, and Chris knows that, and the fucking fucker, Lance's wounded manhood is back again. "Hit me with your best shot, Bass." 

Lance tongues the head of Chris's dick then hums like a fucking kazoo, all deep and throaty, and ha, fucker, Lance thinks as Chris bucks, don't mess with a dude and his Adam's apple. "I win, you take me out and pay for everything and let me drive your bike." 

"Never," Chris vows and sticks two unlubed fingers in Lance's ass while sucking and humming, and Lance groans loudly, putting his mouth on Chris's cock, his hands working his shaft, all at once, a fury of activity. Chris pulls back, panting. "Fucker. You know I like that." 

"Right," Lance says as the whole thing dissolves into some bizarre, testosterone-driven cock-sucking battle, trying to one up the other, and Lance really thinks they should have done this before because wow, oh wow. It's, like, system overload. Chris is squirming and thrusting, which means he's close, but Lance is seeing heaven again, which means he's either coming or dead, and "fuck, _fuck_ ," all down Chris's tight, hot throat. 

Chris waits until Lance is swallowing to start gloating, and Lance would ignore him if he could, but he doesn't really want to because who wants to sleep alone, right? So Lance lets him, rolls his eyes as Chris pronounces himself King of the Cock and beats his chest, and he keeps it up for twenty fucking minutes. Lance smiles anyway.


	23. Spanking the monkey.

"Mm, hey," Chris says, wrapping his arms around Lance from behind and nuzzling his cheek, and Lance looks up, smiles and shuts down his laptop. Chris sniffs. "You smell good today, Bass." He snuffles his nose through Lance's hair. "New shampoo?" 

"Your come, actually, I haven't showered," Lance says, grinning as Chris pulls back and crinkles his nose, and well it is, really, Chris came all over his hair, so it's crazy as fuck today, pointing in all sorts of directions. Last night was nice, Lance thinks though, it was. a really nice date. "But whatever." 

"Hmm, yeah. whatever," Chris agrees, and Lance holds him back until the laptop is put away, wary of Chris's over-exuberance, but he's pretty calm and serene right now. Sated, Lance thinks, from all the fucking. "Mm, I was thinking Bass, about what would be hot. And I was thinking about you. of course." 

"Of course," Lance repeats, Chris's breath warm on his neck, and he rolls his head back, cradled in Chris's arms. 

"So then I'm thinking I've never seen you spank the monkey," and Lance laughs, bearing teeth. "Think I jest, Bass? I've seen everything else, and it'd be hot, you know, to see you touch your cock. Like this, see," and Chris slides a hot, hot hand into Lance's pants, cupping his dick. "Come on, baby. Let me see." 

"I don't know who you're convincing, Chris," Lance murmurs, grinning, and pushes Chris away, holding his hand against Chris's chest. Chris scrambles backwards then off the bed, going to sit on the couch, and Lance stays where he is and pulls off his shirt. "Get naked, Chris." 

"Going toppy on me again, man?" Chris asks but does as Lance says, follows Lance's movements as he slides off his jeans and his briefs, and his socks, and his watch. Chris growls when Lance tries to take off his ring, and Lance smiles lazily. All right, then. 

Lance spreads his legs and touches his fingers to the line of lightly-haired skin between his belly button and his cock, just rubs a bit and shivers. His stomach clenches as he runs his palm over it then pulls at his nipples until they're hard. Chris is a nipple man, and he's watching Lance with dark, intense eyes, so quiet. 

Lance folds his fingers over his cock, presses it to his belly, and rubs, thumbing the head, and Chris is leaning forward, his own hand between his legs. Lance watches him, looks him straight in the eyes as he lifts two fingers to his own mouth and sucks. Chris makes a gargled noise, and Lance grins. Oh _yeah_. 

The fingers slide easily into his ass as he drags his knee to his chest, bent nearly in two, trying to put on a show, be a performer, and Chris is crouched on the sofa now, catching his cock in a downstroke. Lance hopes he doesn't fall off and break something, because he would, because Chris is just like that. 

"This is so fucking hot," Chris whispers, licking his lips, and Lance nods, agrees, but wants to say it's better with him, so fucking amazing. Instead, he's quiet as he fists his cock with one hand, fingers his ass with the other, and keeps his eyes on Chris's face, sometimes glancing down, because yeah, dick, Chris, hand, moving. Good, Lance thinks, so good. 

With a swallowed shout, Lance comes all over his legs, which are hairy again, and thinks his balls must be empty because it goes on for fucking ever, and wow, he's shaking hard. The room is just charged with energy, and Chris is still going, still moving, skin sliding between his fingers, dick leaking. Lance gets up and kneels by his feet. "Can I?" 

And Chris says, "please."


	24. Public displays of affection.

Chris kisses slow and long and light, with a lot of lip and a little bit of tongue. He likes to poke at Lance's mouth until it opens and likes to touch the small of Lance's back while they make out. Lance goes through life feeling well-kissed now. So, of course, Chris turns it against him. 

"Only kissing for awhile," Chris says merrily one day, waving his finger at Lance, and Lance thinks, you motherfucker, but also doesn't fight it. It's cool. Chris starts kissing him where the guys can see, in the kitchen of the bus Lance shares with Joey, in Justin's room while they wait for him as he preens, in the back of JC's car with JC driving merrily along. JC knows, of course, but Joey and Justin, don't. It's a secret thing, Lance thought, a private thing. He doesn't mind so much when it's brought into the open. 

"Whoa," Joey says when he sees them. They're sitting on the divan, facing each other with legs tangled, and Chris has a hand on Lance's hips, under the edge of his sweats. Chris smiles, Lance can feel it, but goes on kissing, tongue sweeping into Lance's mouth and out, smooth as silk. Lance keeps his hands where they rest on Chris's shoulders. 

Chris kisses him behind the ear, and at the edge of his jaw, and at the corner of his mouth, does it thinkingly and with all the attention in the world. Lance does the same, in different places, in different ways, and it's wow, he thinks dazedly, it's amazingly. _Wow_. Chris's back is warm against his palms when they creep under his shirt, touching lightly. 

"Oh," Justin says when he sees them. They're in the limo already, necking, and Lance is laughing because Chris is being ticklish about it, rubbing his scruffy chin against Lance's shoulder. Lance calls him an ass, and a fucker, and squirms on his rock hard cock, just to be a prick about it. Chris's arms are slung low around Lance's waist, and he doesn't move them. 

Lance likes it when Chris pushes him against the wall, a thick thigh between Lance's legs, and kisses him hard, all sloppy tongue and banging teeth. Always, Lance arches into him, Chris's fingers hooked in his belt and pulling him close, and Lance stretches, arms crossed high above his head, lips tingling. He loves it. 

Chris makes the most noise when Lance holds his face while he kisses, sucking on Chris's lower lip, head held between Lance's two palms, his body straddled on Chris's lap. Chris lifts his chin, breathes between parted wet lips, and Lance cradles his cheeks, folds over that open mouth and kisses Chris with all the skill he has. Lance thinks, before Chris, he was a pretty lousy kisser. 

They kiss while the guys are in the room one night, watching movies. Justin and Joey stare because Chris and Lance really have been kissing for days, and say, "hey, what's the deal, yo, why are you attached at the lips?" And, "wow, dudes. I can see tongue, and hey, a lot more. Let's not look anymore," when Chris thumbs Lance's hip, skin slightly bared, pants tugged low. 

Lance likes it best when it's late at night, and they're stupid tired from all the singing and dancing and living, collapsed into bed and naked. They've been kissing for days, and Lance is feeling the pressure, but it's not so bad, really, because he feels sexy, charged with something big. Lance likes it best when Chris leans over him and kisses his mouth, when it's dark and quiet, and it's all he needs, Lance realises, this is all needs. 

And that scares him, so he doesn't say anything. He just kisses back.


	25. The happy ending.

They stop fucking. Lance can't explain it, so he doesn't even try, just keeps going in life, answering emails, singing and dancing, all the normal shit that used to be his life until Chris and his crazy ideas about sex. Still, Chris is around, bringing him dinner, fixing his hair, just being around, but none of the sex stuff. Lance, maybe, kind of misses it, misses him. 

Chris shows up one night, and he hovers, walks around, and Lance is going to kill him, he is, because it's distracting as fuck to have him prancing around, trying to say something but not, until, "so. Um. Right. I should have told you this in the beginning. about the list." 

Lance closes his computer. "And it's done, huh?" Lance asks, strapping the computer down with its velcro belts into its bag, not looking at Chris because, like, really. The list is obviously done, and maybe this is where Chris says he's back into women, and fucking asshole, Lance decides, goddamn fucking asshole. "Well. It was fun. _Thanks_." 

"Uh. Hi. Not stopping the fucking fabulous sex here, dude, just trying to be honest and stuff. Because there was a list, and um. Fuck, Lance. Come on," Chris says and grabs Lance's wrist, making him turn around. "I started trying to get with you, like, ages ago, Bass. The fisting really weirds me out, all right, but I did it, for you, and then you did shit for me, and. And yeah. Please stop me from talking, Bass, before I make this worse." 

"You fucking asshole," Lance says once, just for good measure, then nods and doesn't step away when Chris circles his waist and leans up to kiss him. Lance presses back, and he's fucking trembling, suddenly, like this is all new and strange and different, when maybe it is and maybe it isn't. But whatever really, really. whatever. 

Chris lowers Lance down to the bed, and it's odd, Lance realises suddenly, because they're both fully dressed and not clawing, just kissing. Chris drags his lips over Lance's neck, suckling under his chin, and Lance runs a hand over Chris's shoulder, down his back. This goes on for ages, until Lance is aching hard against his pants, and Chris is breathing hot on his face. 

And the clothes come off, slowly, slowly, and one by one. Lance clings, fingers splayed against Chris's skin, running down from the wings to the small of his back, and up again, and Chris keeps close against him, flesh burning hot and slick with sweat. 

It's hot, so fucking hot, but it's all different, and Lance understands, finally gets it, and yeah, he thinks, yeah, that's what this was about all along. He wants to tell Chris but thinks Chris understands, knows about trust now and what it feels like to let someone get so close that not even the most private secrets can scare him away. 

And it's an hour of touching, and kissing, and the softest murmurs between them before it even becomes actively sexual, with Chris sliding down between Lance's legs and sucking, knowing all the hidden sweet spots, and Lance presses a fist to his mouth, burning inside. 

It doesn't end because Lance stops him before he comes. That doesn't especially matter right now, is the furthest thing from his mind, and he touches Chris with his fingers, eyes half-mast. Chris looks beyond him almost, focussed elsewhere, and Lance knows where he's gone. "Hey," Lance whispers, "come back," and Chris does. 

It's later still, when Chris is finally, finally inside, just him and his slick sweat, and it's slow and loving, raw emotion painted all over them and the room. Lance keeps his arms hooked around Chris's neck, draws him close and brushes dry lips over the rim of his ear then down to his neck, where Lance can feel Chris's pulse, beating away. 

And yeah, yeah. Yeah, so softly now. Chris mouths Lance's shoulder when he comes, and Lance breathes it at all back, lips against his ear, and he says, "oh, oh," like he doesn't believe it when the pleasure moves through him like a current, sharp and fast, electric. 

It's quiet, then, when they're lying there, and Lance doesn't really know what to say, not really. It's not like he didn't call Chris things in his head, like boyfriend or lover and shit like that, but he never _really_ thought about it, never really let himself say it out loud in an empty room where he could hear it. 

"That was actually last on the list," Chris says quietly, fingers stroking idle circles on Lance's chest, and Lance shivers, bumps drawn up on his wet skin. "But I know you, Bass, and you're gonna laugh at me if I told you what that was called. It's kinda cheesy, man." 

"I won't laugh," Lance promises, though he's lying, and Chris knows it. Chris looks up, smirking, and Lance thumbs the arc of his mouth, sliding up to press against his cheek Chris bites at Lance's hand, teeth scraping lightly. "Come on. Tell, Chris. You want to." 

Chris smiles, and his eyes reveal all his secrets, dark in the shadows of the settling night. "All right," Chris concedes, ducking his head, lips twisted in a teasing smirk. "I called that, Bass." Chris beams and puts on the fakest Southern accent ever, and he says, "well, I called that making _sweet_ ol' fashioned love." 

And Lance laughs.


End file.
